


Let Me Adjust Your Cravat, Holmes.

by Haldane



Series: The Pretence Series [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson almost never wins wagers against Holmes.  So when, for once, he does... why does he ask for such a small forfeit?  </p><p>Sequel to "Pretence", and "Silver, Jet, and Diamonds".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Adjust Your Cravat, Holmes.

I was breakfasting on my own again that particular morning. One could never complain of routine when sharing lodgings with Holmes; he might be up before me, after me, or be totally absent. On the occasions he did arrive during my morning, he was equally likely to enter from his bedroom or from the street. I doubt I would have raised an eyebrow had he decided to climb in through the window.

So his appearance from the stairs caused me no surprise, but his physical condition did. His face was pallid, almost grey, and his eyes were bloodshot. He even stumbled against the doorframe in passing, a startling error for one normally so controlled. He has often gone a night without rest, but this must have been the result of two nights... or three.

"Holmes! What on earth have you been doing?"

"I can't stop now, I must get this telegram off."

"Is this the Witsby case, from Chicago?"

"Yes" he replied absently, while intently searching his desk for some item.

"Then you can hardly be in a hurry at all. Are you aware what time it is over there?"

"Yes, Watson, I _do_ know the earth is round." His tone was not absent this time, but cutting.

"Exactly. I doubt they will even try sending your telegram before lunch. So why not join me?"

"Really! Do you think I can just drop this case in its tracks and sit nattering over a cup of tea?"

"No, I don't suppose you can." I decided to try a change in approach. "Pity, really. I was..."

He had finally found what he wanted, and was copying out an address from an envelope, presumably for the telegram. "You were what?"

"I was considering a wager. But if you don't have time, there's not much point my mentioning it. And when you get back, it will be too late. So as I said, a pity."

I could see the hook was at least half set in him. He loses so rarely, a wager is almost irresistible to him. And for my part, I hardly cared if I won or lost, as long as I could prevent him from collapsing out in the street.

"Give me fifteen minutes, by the clock. And you might as well have something to eat while you're listening." I placed a couple of slices of toast on the empty plate on his side of the table, and pushed across the covered dish containing the scrambled eggs. I did not look at him; I simply behaved as if he had already accepted my offer. "Tea? You don't have to natter if you'd rather not."

"Oh, have it your way. Fifteen minutes, but no more." Holmes half sat, half fell into his chair and attacked the toast and eggs. "So? This wager of yours?"

"Simple. You are all in a hurry to send your telegram. I think no hurry is necessary. I want you to inquire at the office when it is likely to actually go out. If they agree to send it straight away, you are right, and I lose. But if it does not go before, say, twelve o'clock, I am right, and you lose."

He thought over this for a while. I took the opportunity to refill his cup. I swear, his colour was better already. If I could keep him sitting for another ten minutes, I would count it among my successes.

"So, the wager is over the time the telegram goes out. Did you have a forfeit in mind?"

"Well, actually I do... But since your imagination and intellect so far outstrip my own, I would not want to constrain you to my pedestrian ideas." I paused while he snorted around a mouthful of egg at my insincerity. "The winner gets to name the forfeit, after the issue is decided."

That did it. I do not think that anything pleases him as much as having someone admit they were wrong and he was right, and here I was offering him the chance to make me say it in any fashion he could dream up. And if he refused the wager, he was effectively admitting I was right already. 

He glanced at the clock, and pushed his chair away from the table. "Your fifteen minutes is up. Are you coming with me to the telegraph office?"

"No, Holmes, I don't think that's necessary. I trust your word as a gentleman as to what they say." His word as a gentleman, and the fact that I had tried to send a morning telegram to an associate in New York the week before, only to be told there would be several hours' delay due to the time difference.

\-------------------------------------

"Watson, I do believe you cheated." Holmes looked as if he was torn between admiring my gall or simply strangling me. 

"You could have asked me why I was so certain about the matter. Indeed, you probably would have thought of it if you hadn't been so worn out by this case. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"And my forfeit?"

"Did you know, I have two tickets for The Magic Flute this evening, with Kristensen conducting. Will you come with me?"

"I refuse to believe that my forfeit consists of accompanying you to the opera. Come on, Watson, give!"

"If you insist. Call me when you start to get ready, and I will help you get dressed."

"Is that some new euphemism of which I am unaware?"

"Not at all, I mean it exactly as it sounds. I wish to make a couple of suggestions about your attire; you always dress exactly the same way."

"Ah. Now we are getting somewhere. Compulsory suggestions, I assume?"

"Come now, Holmes, trust me! Do you think I am going to make you wear your shoes on the wrong feet or something? I'll be out most of today, but I will be home in good time." I made sure not to linger. I wanted to be safely out of range of his questions, and besides, I was not certain how long I could refrain from laughing.

\-------------------------------------

I rapped twice on Holmes' door, and then entered. I had already finished dressing for the evening, in perfectly conventional black and white attire. Holmes was looking attractively dishevelled in socks, underclothes and formal shirt, with his other clothes laid out on the bed. I clicked my tongue in mock regret and shook my head.

"I said to call me when you started to get ready. You're going to have to back up a bit."

"How far is 'a bit'?"

"Leave the socks on." He waited for me to continue, only gradually realising I meant exactly that. I gave him one of the two small bags I was carrying. "If it makes you feel any better, I bought this for you today." 

'This' was an elegant grey silk cravat, quite a change from his usual conservative black tie. "I suppose this is one of your 'suggestions'? I assume you know I prefer something plainer."

"Tonight you'll want to wear this. It's to cover up your collar. The one I had made for you." 

It was almost too funny, watching his face while his words ran down and stopped. "You want me to... to go out... wearing..." 

"I want you to remove the clothes you are already wearing, and fetch your collar. Then I have one more 'suggestion' ", and I idly waved the second bag, "before we cover you up, all correct and proper." He was still staring blankly at me, and I decided one more push was in order. "Come on, man, move! If you just stand there we'll miss the overture."

He moved, then. He was quick enough to get the bag from my hand before I realised he was after it. He took one incredulous look inside, then groaned out loud and thrust it back. 

"Now I suppose you can see the need for your underclothes to come off? I can hardly put it over the top of them." 

"Watson, contact with me has obviously corrupted you beyond redemption." But when he began to undo his shirt buttons, I knew he had accepted the dare. "You were definitely not so evil and depraved when I first met you." 

"And your mission is to seek out evil and depravity and see that it gets treated as it deserves?" I teased, my voice caressing him as my hands dared not. I held tight to the bag to keep from reaching down and adjusting myself within my trousers as he stripped in front of me. 

"Indeed." was all he said, but if I was reading his eyes correctly, I was in for some serious trouble the next time it was me who lost one of our wagers. "Would you mind closing your eyes for, say, a count of thirty?"

It was not fake modesty. He was the only person who knew where that collar was concealed, and he was going to keep it that way. Listen as hard as I might, I could pick up no clue as to where in the room he moved to retrieve it. 

Oh, gods... He was raising the stakes on me, no doubt about it. He was leaning back, no; he was posed, against the bedpost, hands linked behind his head, one leg slightly bent and with his eyes half closed. The cheetah collar, that mark of my possession of him, glittered silver and black around his throat. He was blatantly flaunting his nudity, and challenging me to keep my self-control. 

"I believe you wished to make another compulsory suggestion? Or have you decided to abandon your plans?" 

He'd like that. If I took him now, as much as we would both enjoy it, then I would have won the wager but lost this stage in the subtle back-and-forth competition in our sensual lives. Neither of us wanted a total victory, but neither would we simply let the other have his way too easily. Two minutes ago I had been in control; now had to prove I could keep it. 

It is amazing what one can do when a person you wish to impress is watching. I strolled casually across the room, and even grasped his shoulder, but only to turn his back towards me. Then I took the leather leash from its bag and snapped the clip end to his collar. 

I ran my hand slowly down his spine, checking the length was as I had pictured it. His formal clothes would hold it still at the waist, but the loop on the end fell lower, so even with underclothes and trousers on it would be free to move a little, shifting against the top curve of his buttocks. Not even Holmes would be able to ignore that for an entire evening. Besides, I had more cards to play yet.

"There. Now you can get dressed again. Do ask me if I can be of assistance.' I ached to touch him again, or to place just one kiss on the nape of his neck, but knew if I did I would be lost. Instead I settled myself in the chair, politely waiting for him to finish so we could go out. He implicitly conceded the round to me, and ignored me as much as possible while dressing.

I let him precede me down the stairs, but when he stopped to open the outside door I closed the gap between us. My hand pressed against the seat of his trousers, feeling the loop under my fingers. "Just checking." I whispered into his ear. "Every time it moves, pretend it's my tongue." I was close enough to feel the slightest tremor run through him before he yanked the door open and flung himself through it. Sometimes a vivid imagination is as much a handicap as an asset. 

\-------------------------------------

I am glad the performers were not dependent on us alone to make up their audience. Few people would have noticed Holmes' distraction, expressed as it was in tiny shifts of his weight or the occasional grimace, but to my perceptions he might as well have been shouting. I was not much better off, since my awareness that his thoughts were constantly heading in carnal directions caused me to respond in kind. 

Like many others in the crowd, we stopped in one of the restaurants for supper. I ordered a large cognac for each of us, and allowed Holmes to get settled. He inhaled the scent from the warmed glass, took a generous sip, nodded approvingly, and I launched my next provocation under the guise of a casual remark.

"Holmes, there was something else I wanted to mention."

"Hmm?" He was still appraising the cognac, holding the liquid in his mouth to gather the full effect of the taste as it warmed, then he closed his eyes to swallow.

"I was in such a hurry to assist you tonight, I skimped a bit on my own arrangements. I'm wearing absolutely nothing under these trousers."

It was beautiful to watch. He started to cough, strangled it back, and then began choking instead. He did manage to cover his mouth with his napkin before the drink sprayed out noisily, while I thumped helpfully between his shoulderblades. We were soon surrounded by no less than three waiters and the maitre d', all solicitously offering glasses of water, apologies, and other assistance, while seeking reassurance that the great detective was not going to expire on their premises.

Holmes _hates_ being fussed over. 

\------------------------------------

We called a cab not long after that. I took care to summon a closed one, so we could at least have privacy from watching eyes inside, even though we still had to guard our voices. I pulled down the blinds as fast as I could, so that I could grab Holmes by his lapels and bring his mouth to mine. We kissed without finesse, hard and forceful, tongues exchanging drops of cognac along with the unique taste of each other. We must have been halfway home before we broke off to breathe, lips bruised and hunger still unappeased.

"Watson... In the restaurant, were you telling the truth or was that just an invention to disturb me?"

I reached down to my trousers and undid the two centre fly buttons. "Why do you ask me? If I did lie to you then, any answer now could be a second lie about the first lie. On the other hand, I have heard your opinions on the first-hand collection of evidence." I leant back into the corner of the compartment, and lifted my eyebrows in a bland expression of inquiry.

He didn't hesitate - the distance from the theatre district to our home is not a long one - but slid his delicate fingers through the gap and wrapped them around my bare member. He shut his eyes then, and squeezed gently. Intense pleasure surged through me, and I suddenly realised the danger I was in. Give him another free minute to work and he could ruin everything. "Careful!" I whispered. "I have plans for that, later."

"Not much later, I hope." he replied, releasing me with some reluctance. "Also, we just turned into Baker Street." He swiftly did up my buttons for me, and we checked each other's appearance for seemliness as the cab halted outside our door. 

I waited at the foot of the stairs as Holmes relocked the front door behind us. "After you." I said, politely, hoping his natural suspicion would give me the chance to play another move I had in mind.

"Why?"

Ha! "Because, dear Holmes, if I wait until you reach the third step before I start up after you, I can, with complete social decorum, feast my eyes on your lovely backside all the way up." 

He groaned and turned to lean his forehead against the wall. "Watson. I hereby take back everything, everything!, I have ever said slighting your imagination and ingenuity. I had thought you could not make things any worse, but you have."

"Take some comfort, Holmes, in that I hold you have honourably completed your forfeit to me. I will stop pressing you, if you ask it."

He responded with an obscenity I had not even realised he knew. "Now!? No way, my dear Watson, no way. You have been teasing and promising all night, with your words, your hands, and your eyes... There is no way in the world you are going to get out of delivering on those promises."

I crossed to him then. With both hands I untied the cravat from his neck, pulling it away from the collar it had been hiding. Even in the dim light of the hall it threw sparks of light. I undid the top two shirt buttons to expose more of him, running my fingers along the lines of the collar, tipping his chin back so I could use my tongue on the hollow at the base of his throat. Meanwhile, my left hand crept around to the back of his neck, and I slowly pulled the leash out of its concealment. 

"I have no desire at all to get out of my promises. But neither would I have you be in the least degree unwilling."

"Unwilling" he said hoarsely, taking my hand and pressing it to the bulge on the front of his trousers, "is not the word I would have used." 

"Very well then." I held up my hand, so he could see the end of his leash in my grip. I indicated the stairs. "Up."

He had to stop to unlock the door. I took the opportunity to grind my hips into his backside, and even through the layers of clothing I could feel his reaction. He fumbled the key in the lock, and I snarled at him. "Get this damned door open! Now!"

I pushed him through the door as it opened, and maintained just enough presence of mind to close it again behind us. Holmes was already working on his belt and trouser fastenings. "Ahh, Watson! No hands, no fooling about, just _take_ me!" 

"Quiet!" I flicked the leash I was still holding, to remind him of it. Then a better idea occurred to me, and I pulled out the silk cravat and gagged him with it. His hands came up by reflex to stop me, but I hissed at him to continue removing his clothes. At the same time my mind was working on one last unexpected problem.

I was looking around the room frantically, as if expecting a discretely unlabeled tin to simply appear in front of me. Then I spotted something close enough, and made a dive for the dining table, undoing buttons as I went. Mrs. Hudson has always made those hideous little butter curls, but tonight I realised they did have one advantage over a proper solid block. I grabbed two or three off the top of the pile and squashed them in my hand, then smeared the resulting mess over my member. 

I turned Holmes and pushed him down over the ottoman, took one shot at lining myself up and thrust as deep as I could. He shuddered and screamed, audible despite the gag. My breath was coming in great uneven gasps as I tried to speak.

"Just... hold on... a second... more... aaahhhhhh!" I had to bite my own tongue at the last. 

It must have been the shortest act of intercourse I have ever committed. I like to think that I made it six strokes, but I suspect it was only five. It may have been four.

I pulled out of him as soon as I peaked, aware of his own aching state. I twisted him over on the ottoman, so now his belly and groin thrust upwards, while long limbs fell away to every side. I gave him one hard swipe with my right hand, still greasy with the butter, and plunged down on him with my mouth. He cried out again, muffled, as every muscle tensed to push desperately upwards towards me. I dug the nails of both hands into his buttocks, and sucked, hard, feeling the soft outer skin sliding over the hardness beneath. He lasted no longer than I had.

I rolled him limply off the ottoman and onto the floor, and settled down behind him, as I loved to, with my front snuggled against his back. Gently now, I untied the cravat, and removed the leash, but left the collar alone. Only he ever put it on, and only he ever took it off. But the other items I stowed carefully away in my jacket pocket, reminding myself to find them a proper home when I got to my room.

I knew we had to get up. I knew we had to go, each to our own separate bedrooms. I knew if we stayed still much longer, curled together for warmth, falling asleep was a real danger, with real penalties. But I couldn't face it just yet. One more minute first, one minute to last us until the next time. 

Holmes sighed. "I suppose..."

"...we have to get up. I know."

"Let me give you a hand." Holmes stood, and reached down to aid me. "After all, you did all of the work."

"Yes, all what? Thirty seconds of it? Holmes, I'm sorry. But..." and he hushed me, laughing a little.

"No apologies, please. Any points you lost for time you more than made up for in intensity. Ah Watson, my dearest Watson... remind me to lose to you more often."


End file.
